Moving On
by Divine Angle
Summary: "I'll pave over your memories, and then hold a dance party... Everyone will dance on your grave." Robotnik won. One shot.


**A/N:** One of my first attempts at the first person perspective.

I will try to elicit enjoyment while you read.

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><p>It stands as a glistening monument to my success. A series of snow covered obelisks that jut upwards from the surface, reaching into the firmament of the heavens. The black clouds that pour from the factories block the snowfall, effectively blocking nature from my vision. Allowing me to ignore its heeds as I reach for new goals.<p>

Metropolis city, a city of advancement. Of change. This world fought against me at first. Now, it is my canvas. The place I work from.

I draw a heavy breath, stepping down from my Egg-O-Matic, my boots crunching in the snow. My work precedes me. Everyone knew who I was a decade ago, and everyone knows who I am now. All major advancements in this world? Made by me. Granted, I made most of these advancements in private studies years ago, but details. I think tomorrow, I'll make an advancement in pesticides. Make them significantly less harmful, save more crops.

I chuckle at the thought. Crops. The Mobian population is far more heavily into agriculture now. Thanks to me. Controlled agriculture, of course, in specified lands. Can't let people farm just anywhere, could I? Need land for housing for the ever growing population.

Mobian population numbers rise incredibly fast. On account of their life spans being shorter than that of a human. They reproduce at a greater rate. And a growing population needed more places to rest their heads. They needed their farms to produce more food that is edible without losing so much. They needed safer streets. They needed more organized methods to deal with crime. The Freedom Fighter movement wasn't working any more. It was a biased, nepotistic, oppressive group that was against any vast form of advancement. Against change.

They were against me. The population, ironically, eliminated the biggest threat to my rise to power for me. The Freedom Fighters were forcefully disbanded about eight years ago, the individual members punished based on the severity of their crimes against me as an honest business man.

Granted, they would not have done so for me if I hadn't offered them solutions to the hunger problem. Overpopulation lead to many starving Mobians. And, as a more morally upstanding race than your average species that is controlled in number by such hunger dilemmas, they were against so many people dieing. They needed help. I offered it.

My pesticides have made farms significantly more productive. More food made it to maturity and edibility than ever before. But that wasn't enough. They still had issues. So, introductions of genetic manipulation and various chemicals to aid the growth and production of the plants was able to garner me further points with the people.

But a hunger problem isn't the only thing I've used to win people to my side. No. Crime problems were also used. With an ever growing population, more and more Mobians were committing crimes against fellow Mobians. Crime rates saw an increase amongst their own people. And the Freedom Fighters were concerned solely with me, a man that was now offering a solution to the hunger problem, and a solution to the crime problem. A man that was willing to change, and pay for his crimes by helping the Mobian people.

Ha. Pay for my crimes. I remember clearly using that argument to aid myself in court. Am I paying now? Really? I sit upon the throne of the world. The Mobians hang on my every word and action. Everything I make makes their lives better. I lead the business in this world. I may not hold the title of president, mayor, king, emperor…

But this is my empire, shaped how I like it. People grovel at my feet when I choose to walk the streets. They clear the roads when I go for a ride. I don't remember the last time I paid for a meal.

Back to the crime problem. I created robot enforcers, designed to clearly identify and deal with criminal behavior. Excellent machines, worked marvelously. But people got worried. Who was watching them? What if they malfunctioned? Where was the safeguard?

Of course, police forces still exist. I can't expect the people to completely trust programs in machines to deal with their problems. What if the program is faulty? The police watch the enforcer robots, keep a close eye on them. Anything they do or say is heeded by the machines.

It's a good thing I control the law enforcement as well. I supply the ballistic weapons they use, the communication systems they use, the security systems they use… I walk into any station, anywhere on Mobius, and everyone stops to say hello. Their jobs as law enforcement officers would be significantly harder without me.

With both the hunger issue and the crime issues being addressed by me, the Freedom Fighters, an organization made to oppose me, had no leg to stand on.

My number one threat to supremacy and control was eliminated with the greatest of ease.

Truly, I won the day I declared war. I did not initially predict this specific outcome, but I still won. Mobian life spans are significantly shorter than my own. Their numbers increase rapidly. They may be capable of speech, capable of structuring societies, but many animals communicate. Many animals structure societies. My war was a simple case of man versus nature. And my superior knowledge and foresight declared me the winner before I started the first assault.

I chuckle. Louder. And turn away from Metropolis. I wipe the snow from my hat, accumulated from the time I spent musing, and I begin a walk along a worn path, one I've walked many times before. One many have walked many times before. An iron gate stands in the way, hanging open very slightly. The person I'm visiting…

I used to need so many machines and robots with me just to be around him. Now, he's of no actual consequence. Was he ever really of consequence to me?

I step through the gates, and wave to the groundskeeper. He snarls back. He doesn't like me. Holds fast to what his parents said about me. Luckily, he's a dying breed. I won't have to deal with him. And he can't touch me.

After a nice, brisk walk, I stop at a tree. Below this tree rests a tombstone. It's covered in snow. I kneel down, brushing away the snow. My insulated gloves keep my hands warm, prevent this from being an uncomfortable endeavor. Once I have finished this menial task, I stand.

The epitaph reads just beautifully to me, so I read it aloud once again.

"Here lies Sonic T. Hedgehog, a hero to many, a child at heart. A warrior who refused to be fooled, and died as he lived. A Freedom Fighter. RIP."

I laugh, loudly. It echoes, the graveyard empty. The groundskeeper wants to tell me off, but he's tried before. It never worked. He knows it doesn't. He walks away, to his house on the land.

Once he's out of sight, I look down at the grave. "Talking to the dead isn't possible. This I know. But there's something… Cathartic about this. In a few weeks, the old man will be evicted, and I will be able to build over this land to make a much needed factory. This is a prime location, and the people need this. They don't need a grave to commemorate some hero that did nothing for the real problems they had.

"You had a… good run, I suppose? Hardly. You spent your life fighting me. Your short, Mobian life. I still remember the day I told you that I will live to be 90, maybe closer to a hundred. Mobian life spans are only about thirty years or so, right? Maybe more. Depends on so many factors, but you're smaller animals. Of course you have to expect your life to not be as long.

"And now, I stand on your grave. You impudent rat. You pesky blue rodent. You can't bother me anymore. Time proved to be your undoing. How sad. Every time you spared my life, you could have ascertained a conclusion perfectly opposite to this one. You would be dancing on my grave.

"Now, I will dance on yours. And the graves of every Freedom Fighter that died with you. I'll pave over your memories, and then hold a dance party in my factory before it opens. Make a room just for it. Everyone will dance on your grave.

"Sayonara, Sonic the Hedgehog. You lost. And there isn't a more amazing sensation in the world than knowing that I get to build a factory on your face."

With that, I tipped my hat, and turned, walking away from the grave, and leaving the last bit of my unsavory past behind me.

It's time to move on.

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><p><strong>AN:** A one shot born from the idea of Mobians having a shorter life span than humans. Really. It spawned this whole thing. Plus, I've been wanting to write something focusing on the Eggman for a while.

Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.

Merry Christmas!

-Snowy Angle


End file.
